You do your best to paint the reality of what a soldier-grunt's day in the life really is. Even the ones with horses and shiny armor don't have it so great. If you did get to see some fighting, even if you managed to make it out without a scratch…there were wounds in the mind that could never heal. Nightmares so real they might as well have been.
"You think so little of me?!" Bregan slams you hard up against a nearby tree. You've seen him get angry on a regular basis for years, but never quite this angry. You can't see his face, but are those tears? "I'm not as clever as you, Ronald Dunhall, but I know what I'm getting into. I'm not a little boy thinking war is like those bedtime stories, so stop treating me like one!"
His words sting more than you were expecting, but your stance on the matter remains firm. A soldier's life isn't what's best for Bregan, even if he can't admit it to himself.
The two of you carry on the rest of the trip in silence. Within minutes, you find yourself in front of the healer's hut.
"Wonder if this old windbag's nasty potions managed to save your prince." Bregan has this horrible habit of blurting out whatever he is thinking, even if it means offending someone at their own front door.
A shrillish sound cracks up from inside. "Need I remind you, Bregan, of a little boy covered head to toe in red beady poxes not six summers ago? You'd still have them if it weren't for one of those 'nasty' brews. My my, how soon we forget."
The tone of the little lady that emerges from the hut is downright scary. While Bregan is paralyzed with fear, you take the opportunity to make amends and your way inside.
"So, this is my champion." A delicate voice—one more elegant than yours could ever hope to be—greets you with pleasant courtesy. It is such a foreign tone, you nearly doubt the language as one you share, though you've never been this compelled to listen further.
Any doubt that the mysterious stranger is upper-class is good and gone now. Even in a roughspun tunic, everything from the stance he takes lying down to the tone he uses in his voice gives it away. While you are certainly happy to see him doing well, you can't help but feel at unease. As you hesitate, Bregan decides to make introductions for you.
"Welcome to our humble village, your highness. This here's Ronald Dunhall, your knight in woolen trousers. You can call me Bregan."
The nobleman introduces himself as Silvanus. Gathering up your words, you ask about his condition. While Bregan's concern is far from genuine, yours is quite real.
"I have no feeling in my right foot…but that may change. My worries are for my father and uncles, however…" A foot that mangled is never going to work again, but you keep that thought to yourself. You inquire about his relatives and how he got into this mess to begin with.
"My father's a merchant for Greyfinch Trading; he was appointed a new position in the capital…though now I fear that the bandits…he…" Tears threaten to fall down his porcelain face, and even Bregan fidgets with sympathy. "Our caravan with all our belongings was attacked by a gruesome lot of them, and I…escaped as soon as I could. I ran for days before—"
Your emotional companion sees fit to interrupt Silvanus's ill-fated tale. "Escaped?! You coward, you left your family to die!" Bregan is about to approach Silvanus in a rather aggressive manner. What do you do?